


Falling Slowly

by Sulwen



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Glam RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-03
Updated: 2010-11-03
Packaged: 2017-10-13 01:12:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sulwen/pseuds/Sulwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Adam needs a break, so Tommy, being the good friend that he is, takes him to a cabin in the middle of the woods for a couple days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

They're somewhere in the random rural South when Adam's head starts spinning. Tommy watches it happen – they all do – and in the back of his mind he can see the VH1 special already, Adam's answer to when it all started to go wrong: _Oh, we were in Georgia, or Louisiana, I didn't even know anymore, and things just started to be too much._ He starts drinking more, and yeah, they all drink, but Adam starts doing it earlier in the day, before every interview, every meet and greet, definitely before the show. The delays between Allison's set and Adam's grow longer, time for him to clear his head, shake himself off, steel himself for one more performance. He always pulls it off onstage, of course he does, but Tommy will never understand how. There are nights when he's sure, almost entirely sure, that Adam's upping his game, high on more than alcohol, but Adam is careful and never lets anyone see. And Tommy's no prude, but...damn it, Adam's worked so fucking hard for this, and doing it alone like that, in secret...that's not rock star partying. That's something else entirely.

Tommy doesn't even want to think about the guys, the ever-more-frequent hookups, small and pretty and starstruck, hanging on Adam's every move, every word.

He's alone with Monte on their bus one night, the others all browsing the 24-hour convenience store outside while the bus gasses up, and Tommy can't help but ask.

"So...is he...are things gonna be, y'know, ok?" he stammers, and goddamn it, there's all this emotion starting to sneak up on him already, because this is the best gig he'll ever have, and he can't go back to what he was before. He can't.

Monte looks up at him, uncharacteristic worry in his eyes. Then he shrugs. "I've seen it before. Lots of times. I mean, we all feel it a little bit, right, the pressure? But the lead gets it the worst, all the eyes, camera lenses everywhere. Can't really blame him."

Tommy nods reluctantly, and he wants to say more, but then the others are clamoring back into their spots, Gatorade and Cheetos in hand, and he just slumps back into his seat and plays with his fingers, stretching them against each other and trying not to think.

*

The next night, they're in a hotel, which is good and bad. Good, because Adam's right there and Tommy can get to him. Bad, because Adam brings a guy back to his room, some nameless giggling boy who looks about ten years younger than Adam and a hundred times as slutty. And that's mean, but it's also at least a little true. Tommy lurks down the hall by the ice machine and watches Adam's door, waiting for the guy to leave, and ok, it's a little like stalking, but it's not like Adam's gonna call him to tell him when he's done with his random fuck.

It's not long, and Tommy ducks into a darkened corner as the guy passes by, grinning like a maniac, already reaching for his phone. Of course. Damn it.

He's pissy and tired and a little afraid when he knocks on Adam's door, hoping that he's given Adam enough time to clean himself up a little.

"Who is it?" Adam calls through.

"Me," Tommy replies, as quietly as he can. You never know who might be in the next room.

"Tommy?" So much for secrecy. "It's open, come on in."

Tommy pushes the door open and makes sure it closes and locks behind him. Adam is laying wrongways on the bed, sprawled out on his back, his head and arms and shoulders spilling over the foot of it. He looks at Tommy upside-down, and Tommy has to smile. He has a five-year-old cousin who he sees twice a year, and it's uncanny how much Adam is like a child sometimes.

"Hey. There something wrong?" Adam asks, and his eyes close, and Tommy can see the weariness in his face. It makes him look older than he should, and Tommy remembers when this was all fun, laughing and playing and feeling like they'd tricked the world into believing they were these big rock stars or something.

Tommy folds himself onto the floor in front of Adam, looking down at his face, watching as it starts to turn red. "I dunno," he says carefully. "Is there?"

Adam doesn't answer, but his eyes cant away from Tommy's, darting around the room, looking for something to focus on. Eventually, they close, and Adam takes a deep breath, and there's shuddering in it, like he's trying not to cry. Tommy wants to reach out and comfort him, tell him it'll be all right, but more than that, he wants Adam to be open with him. Things will never get better if he doesn't talk about it.

A long while passes in silence. Adam's face turns redder and redder, and it has to be uncomfortable now. Finally, he sits up, spinning up onto the bed and holding a hand to his temple, trying to combat the dizziness, and his features crush together in a portrait of distress. Tommy perches on the bed next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. And Adam just _crumples_ into him, engulfing his whole body in a tight hug, and Tommy reminds himself that Adam's just looking for something to hold on to.

The words, when they come, are muffled, spoken right into his shoulder, and they trip over each other in their hurry to get out. Tommy listens, but halfway through he realizes that he already knows. Pressure and stress and attention, all pushing in different directions, straining the balance of confidence and self-doubt, and the worst part is just how it keeps _going,_ never a break, never a chance to relax and recharge and find _himself_ again in the midst of all the madness.

Tommy's shirt is wet by the time Adam's done, and when he pulls away, all the red seems to have focused into his eyes.

"We have vacation coming up, remember? Only a couple weeks away now...think you can make it that long?" Tommy asks, his voice soft, gentle.

Adam rubs his fingers into his eyes and sighs. "It won't help. I mean yeah, vacation, but we'll all be there, and it'll be a big week-long party like Cabo, and that's just _not_..." He trails off, waving a hand, not knowing quite what he wants to say.

Tommy understands. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and brings the tour schedule up on it. It's tight, ridiculously so, and there's really only one option: three days before they leave for Singapore, three tiny days without a show. He turns the phone around so Adam can see and points to the open space. "Here. We'll find you somewhere in the middle of nowhere, and you can go and rest and be totally alone. Ok?"

"Baby, you know they only _look_ empty. When do I ever get a day off?" Adam asks, sardonic, cutting.

Tommy glances up at him quickly. "When you need it this fucking bad, all right? God, Adam, I think you forget sometimes. They don't _have_ a show without you. You have a lot more power than you think."

Adam's eyes go unfocused, looking into the middle distance, and his voice is hazy when he speaks. "Three days of nothing...I can't even remember the last time that happened," he says. Then he looks back to Tommy. "But not alone. I'll drive myself crazy alone."

There's a long pause, heavy, and Tommy licks his lips and waits.

"Come with me?" Adam asks, eyes wide and hopeful, the wet glisten of tears beginning to fade.

And Tommy smiles and nods and says, "Love to."


	2. Day One

They drive. Adam's at the wheel, guiding their anonymous gray rental car along the winding mountain roads, and the radio's playing quietly on whatever station it had been on when they started the car, and Tommy's got his window down, the wind tossing his hair around so hard it almost hurts, but he doesn't care because the fresh air smells amazing, warm with just the barest hint of fall creeping in at the edges.

The past few weeks have been touch and go. It was a fight to get the time, and Tommy's glad he took that battle on himself, kept Adam out of it. But he won in the end, and things were moved and canceled and rescheduled. The hardest part was talking them out of sending security, but Tommy stood his ground. Adam needed to break away from the lifestyle entirely, and a big burly security guard standing outside his door would totally defeat the purpose. Then they asked Tommy why he was going along, if Adam wanted to get away so completely. And ok, he didn't have a good answer to that. So he'd changed the subject and argued hard, and eventually, he got what he wanted.

Adam was a totally different struggle. Tommy found himself hovering, protective, trying to stay as close to Adam as he could. And then Adam would get annoyed, and snap at him about how he was _fine,_ ok, and just leave him alone for a fucking second. It was a hard line to walk, and Tommy tried not to take it personally as he counted down the days.

But they're good now, they're _so_ good, leaving the show and the management and the rest of the troupe and all their responsibilities behind them, fading away in the rearview. It's sunny and pleasant and perfect, and they're dressed way down with suitcases full of their most casual clothes in the backseat, and they have matching pairs of big cheap sunglasses on. They've barely spoken since getting in the car, Tommy giving a direction now and then. Adam doesn't know where they're going, exactly, and Tommy's hoping he'll like it. He thinks he will.

The cabin is way up in the mountains, completely hidden in the trees. They stop at the office first to pick up keys, Adam waiting in the car while Tommy runs in, and the guy behind the counter is in his sixties and wearing a trucker hat and clearly has absolutely no idea who Tommy is. He'd bet money the guy has never heard of Adam either, or maybe even of Idol. This place is about as remote as it gets, at least in this part of the world. Tommy toys with the twin keys and listens to the guy's well-rehearsed spiel about how to get to their cabin and the rules for using the hot tub and where the nearest grocery store is. Then he thanks the man with a smile and turns to go, grabbing a handful of pamphlets from the counter – pizza places mostly, a couple others mixed in.

Adam is chilling when he gets back to the car. He's found a classic rock station, and it's turned way up, vibrations blasting through the car. His head is leaned back on the seat, and one hand is hanging out the window as the other taps out rhythms on the steering wheel. When Tommy opens the door to get in, Adam glances over at him, his whole face lighting up in a slow smile.

"All set, baby?" he asks, and Tommy can hear in his voice how happy he is, like every word is half a giggle, just waiting to bubble over.

Tommy nods. "We're good. It's to the right out of here, on up the hill. Man, gravel roads...I can't even remember the last time I saw one of those."

"Right? I think we went camping once when I was like, twelve. God, and I hated it. Me and Neil had to share a tent, and he snored so bad I thought he was a bear. Scared me to death," Adam says.

And that image is pretty fucking hilarious, at least in Tommy's head, and he can't quite keep from laughing. Adam smiles and glances over at him, trying to look offended and failing. "Hey! This was a very traumatic experience for me! Thank you so much for your sympathy, asshole," he says, but the words are half lost in giggling, and Tommy has to wipe his eyes twice before he can read the signs and figure out where the hell they're supposed to be going.

It's about ten minutes to the cabin, slow and bumpy going. Adam parks in front, and they hop out, leaving the bags for the moment as they check the place out. It's small, but not in any way primitive. There's a grill out front, and Tommy starts making a grocery list in his head. Steaks. Definitely steaks.

Inside, the cabin is really nice, clean and well-kept. Yeah, the decorations are all country and kitsch, but as these places go, it's pretty luxurious. There's a nice big kitchen, oven and fridge and dishwasher, and cabinets fully stocked with heavy dishes. It's only separated from the main room by a stone countertop, and across that, there's a soft leather sofa and a fireplace in the wall that turns on with a light switch and a small flatscreen TV in the corner. The walls are more window than wood, letting in streams of sunlight, and the hot tub is just visible outside the back wall, sitting under a heavy cover on the wraparound porch.

Tommy sets his keys on the counter and takes it all in, satisfied. Adam has already bounded upstairs, looking like nothing so much as a very large puppy as he took the stairs two at a time, and Tommy grins at his enthusiasm, entertained by it even though he feels much the same way himself. It's not quite home, but it's worlds better than another hotel room. He goes into the living room and picks up the remote, wondering what kind of selection they'll have as far as TV channels.

He hasn't even found the power button when Adam calls his name gleefully from upstairs. Tommy turns around and looks up, and Adam is hanging over the railing of the loft, grinning down at him like a crazy person.

"Oh my god, Tommy, you have to come see this!" he says.

Tommy tosses the remote on the couch and makes his way upstairs, wondering what Adam could possibly have found to make him that level of happy. And the first thing he notices is how small the loft is, and how it's extremely full of one very large bed. And ok, damn. He hadn't actually thought to check what the sleeping situation here would be like. It's been a while since he's done his own booking of anything. Apparently they'll be sharing, which, while not really the norm, isn't like a big deal either. At least, it's not to him.

He looks up at Adam to see if his bedding fail is what made him crack up so hard, but Adam isn't even looking at the bed. Instead, he's standing by a large mirrored dresser, and he's got a book in his hands, flipping through it and absolutely shaking with laughter. Tommy comes a little closer, curious, and oh god. Is that...it can't be what he thinks it is...but...oh, for fuck's sake!

It's like a buffet of sex. A variety of instructional books. Scented candles. Edible body paint. _Toys,_ oh dear lord, there are fucking _vibrators_ set out, neatly arranged by size and color. Tommy's mouth falls open, and he turns back to the bed, and are those _rose petals_ sprinkled over it?

Adam's watching his reaction, and from his face, enjoying every second of it. "Dude, did you tell them we were on our honeymoon?" he asks, and Tommy blushes so hard he can feel it in his _hair._

"No! I don't know, they must have just...gotten us mixed up with someone else or something!" Tommy says, and this would be _horrible_ if Adam didn't look so damn amused.

Adam pouts at him a little and sets the book down, and then he comes over to give him one of those big awesome hugs that go on for a long time and kind of make everything else not matter for a while. When he pulls back, he's still smiling, but it's softer now, calmer. "It's ok, babe. Come on, help me get all this put away. I am _not_ sleeping with _The Big Book of Het Sex_ next to me," he says, and Tommy laughs and feels better.

Working together, they get all the stuff thrown into the dresser drawers, cracking up anew at the assortment of lingerie in a variety of shapes and sizes they find there. Then they brush the rose petals off the bed onto the floor, and it looks like a regular bedroom again. Except for the whole one bed thing. Nothing they can do about that. But Adam doesn't even mention it, so Tommy gives the whole thing a mental shrug and puts it out of his mind.

They go back out to the car to grab their bags and pull them inside, and then Adam decides that he wants to go get groceries, because he's hungry and he feels like cooking, something he hasn't been able to do in about forever. Tommy reminds him to get steaks, and then he starts unpacking for both of them, trying to remember the last time he was in one place long enough to actually unpack a suitcase all the way to empty. It feels comfortable and domestic, and when he stows the cases away in a closet, the place feels a lot more like home, his and Adam's toothbrushes side by side in the holder in the bathroom, and their clothes hanging next to each other in the upstairs closet.

He sits on the couch and flips channels and waits for Adam to get back, and kind of flirts with thinking about how good this feels, just the two of them, and how it's totally, totally different from when he's gone away with friends before. But then he flips past something that looks like the bad lighting of an old horror flick, and oh my god it _is,_ and his thoughts are all fake blood and girly screaming until Adam comes in, arms laden with way more food than the two of them can possibly eat in three days.

Adam wants pasta, and when Tommy teases that that really isn't _cooking_ in the proper sense of the word, Adam just sits him down with a cutting board and a pile of tomatoes and onions and glares at him good-naturedly until he starts chopping.

Tommy watches as Adam pulls out a skillet and starts browning ground beef, and it's so different, a side of Adam he's never seen. "So where did you learn to cook?" he asks, keeping his eyes on the tomatoes as they slide around the cutting board.

Adam shrugs. "I helped my parents a little when I lived at home. When I moved out, I was too broke to eat out much. So I just kind of taught myself. I'm not amazing or anything. It's not like I could do, you know, Thanksgiving dinner."

"Better than I could do!" Tommy says, thinking of all the Mexican fast food he's eaten in his life. He pushes the tomatoes to the side and starts in on the onions. They're easier to cut, but his eyes start stinging almost immediately. Huh. He'd thought that was just a myth, the whole onions making you cry thing. Apparently not. He blinks and wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand, but it must have still had some tomato juice on it or something, because that just makes it worse.

He makes a noise of discomfort, and Adam turns around from where he's washing his hands over the sink and sees what's happened. He's there in a second, one hand on Tommy's chin, turning his face up, and the other coming to rest on his cheek, wiping streaming tears away with his thumb.

"Oh _honey,_ you really are new at this, aren't you? I'm sorry, it's my fault. Wait, hang on," Adam says, and he grabs a dishcloth and runs it under cold water, and then brings it back to Tommy and holds it gently over his eyes. "There. That should help. Let me finish these."

Tommy switches the cold cloth from eye to eye, and Adam's right, it does feel good. He watches as Adam moves his uneven tomato chunks into a bowl and then sets the whole cutting board in the sink, onions and all, letting the water run over them as he resumes chopping. "See? You do it underwater, and then it doesn't hurt your eyes," Adam says.

"Thanks, Martha Stewart," Tommy says, grinning as the sting lessens. "You gonna show us how to make cupcakes next?"

Adam laughs. "Oh, cupcakes are easy. You should try making cinnamon rolls from scratch. I tried once – _once_ – and it was such a mess. I could barely scrape the dough off the counter, it was so sticky. And the worst part was that it still made the whole house smell good. Brad was _pissed_ when he found out that no, there weren't actually going to be any cinnamon rolls."

Tommy's only met Brad a few times, and he's never seen him angry, but he can imagine. "I had a girlfriend once, Jessie, who thought she could cook. I kinda felt bad for her, because she tried, you know? But she really, really couldn't."

"Is that why...I mean, what happened to her?" Adam asks.

Tommy lays the dishcloth down on the counter and rests his chin in his hands. "I dunno. It was weird. Things were ok. She was nice, and she could sometimes be really funny, and she had awesome tats. There was this one, a ribbon that spiraled all the way up her leg, and...well, anyway. It just never really went anywhere, and eventually we just kind of...moved apart."

Adam's stopped chopping and is just staring at him now, and Tommy feels a wave of self-consciousness. "What?" he asks, defensively.

"That is the most boring breakup story I've ever heard. You suck!" Adam says, but he's smirking, and Tommy sees the challenge in his eyes.

"Ok, fine. Make you a deal. Whoever tells the best breakup story over dinner wins. Loser has to clean up after," Tommy says, folding his arms and leaning back against the counter.

Adam raises an eyebrow as he adds the onions to the pan and stirs the mixture with a spatula. "Deal, but come on, you know who you're dealing with, right? You're _so_ going down."

They sit on bar stools at the counter, and the pasta is awesome, sauce meaty and spiced just right and delicious, and Adam produces a bottle of red wine from one of his multitude of shopping bags, something dry and full that pairs just right with the meal. Not that Tommy would know or anything – he's usually more a beer guy. Or liquor. That's good too. But this is nice, different, and it really does all taste good together.

Adam talks about Brad, and how it was all drama drama drama, huffing out of rooms and slamming doors and refusing to talk to each other for days...and then how they were somehow friends again a week later, like magic. Tommy counters with Michelle, who seemed absolutely perfect until he found her blowing his band's drummer in the parking lot after a show.

"Wait a minute...she actually tried to convince you that she _tripped?_ " Adam asks, incredulous.

Tommy rolls his eyes and laughs. "I know! Yeah, you tripped and landed with your mouth on his dick. _Right._ "

They're done eating, Adam drawing patterns in the leftover sauce on his plate with a fork, Tommy sipping at the last inch of wine in his glass, and a silence falls over them.

Finally, Tommy asks, "Got a better one than that?"

Adam shakes his head and lets his fork fall onto his plate with a clatter. "Nah, you win. This is depressing. Come on, let's go try out the hot tub!"

He's upstairs before Tommy can answer, changing into trunks, and Tommy pours himself another half-glass of wine to sip as he gathers the dishes up and piles them in the sink to be dealt with later. Then he goes outside and pulls the cover off the hot tub, checking the temperature and the settings. It's nice and hot, steaming in the cool night air, but it takes a few minutes to figure out how to get the jets to go. He's just starting to get it down when Adam comes up behind him, shirtless and rubbing his arms against the chill.

"What are you doing out here? Go, change – I'm totally not waiting for you!" Adam says, already stepping gracelessly over the side and sinking into the water.

Tommy watches him settle, watches his eyes close and his mouth open slightly in a sigh of pleasure. Then he turns and goes back inside, digging his own trunks out of the drawer he stowed them in earlier and changing quickly, throwing his clothes on the floor and hurrying back downstairs to join Adam.

It _is_ chilly outside with hardly anything on, and the wood of the porch is cool against his bare feet. Adam doesn't even stir, clearly lost in the joy of hot water and bubbles, and Tommy walks around to the opposite side of the hot tub and steps in, the heat a shocking contrast on his skin. He sits across from Adam, where there's plenty of room to stretch out, but their feet keep awkwardly meeting in the center, brushing and moving away, over and over. Finally, Adam opens his eyes and pins him with one of those intense eyebrows-raised looks, not annoyed, but getting there. Tommy relents and lets his feet settle where they will, resting against Adam's and moving slightly here and there with the spiraling currents.

At first it's a little uncomfortable, too hot, but then his body adjusts, and Tommy leans his head back in a mirror of Adam's position, feeling the heat sink right down to his bones. He closes his eyes and listens to the chirping crickets, the smell of chlorine filling the air, and it's like the hot water is melting the dirt of the road right off his skin, that layer of dust and grime from a dozen different states that never seems to come off no matter how many showers he takes.

It's amazing, and he's almost dozed off when he feels Adam's hand on his shoulder. "Come on, we should go in. You'll turn into a prune if you sleep out here," Adam says, and Tommy blinks up at him sleepily, his view filled with flushed freckled skin and hair that's wet and clinging at the edges and bright blue eyes, bright as the water itself.

And if he'd thought it was chilly before, it's _freezing_ now, and of course neither of them has thought to bring out a towel. Tommy hisses and wraps his arms around his body, and Adam swears and throws the cover back on the tub as fast as he can and then darts for the door, leaving wet footprints on the carpet. Tommy follows and sees Adam rooting around in a closet, but it's the wrong one - that one's just extra bedding, as he'd learned earlier during his unpacking. But Adam's not picky, and he grabs a big blanket and throws it around his shoulders, and then he intercepts Tommy and wraps the blanket around him too, big arms pulling him in close. And they're wet and shaking, and Adam is laughing as he shivers, and it's infectious as always, and Tommy starts laughing too, and they probably look completely ridiculous, but that's ok because there's no one around to see.

After a few minutes, they start to get warm again, and most of the excess water seeps into the blanket until it's too wet to be of any more use, and Adam takes it into the bathroom and throws it over the shower rod. Tommy passes him on his way upstairs to the bathroom to change into soft sleeping clothes, old gray pajama pants and a black t-shirt, and when he comes out Adam has changed too, and they crawl into bed without saying a word. It's warm and comfortable, and Tommy is so tired that he barely even registers that Adam's there.

He's almost asleep when Adam speaks up, hardly awake himself. "Tommy?"

"Yeah?"

"Should we set an alarm?"

"Fuck no. Sleeping in."

 _"Awesome."_


	3. Day Two

Tommy wakes to the smell of bacon. He yawns and stretches and pads downstairs in bare feet, running a hand over and over through his hair. Adam is showered and dressed and has two separate pans going, one of bacon, one of scrambled eggs, and Tommy smiles ruefully.

"Thought you were supposed to be relaxing," he says, and Adam spins around and grins at him brightly.

"I am!" he says, cheerful, and Tommy can't really disagree, not faced with a look like that. "Do you want milk or orange juice?"

Tommy collapses onto a stool. " _Coffee,_ " he says, yawning through it.

Adam nods. "Can do!"

"Are you going to cook for me every meal?"

"Probably. Get used to it."

They eat, and Tommy has three cups of strong coffee. Adam chats at him through most of the meal, but Tommy doesn't really catch much of it until Adam's up again and working on the dishes.

"So what do you think?" Adam asks.

"Sorry...what?"

Adam shakes his head. "It's too bad you were never into the club scene. You would have made a great nocturnal. I said I went through the brochures and stuff you brought. There's a ton of hiking trails around here that are supposed to be awesome, big views and waterfalls and stuff. Wanna go?"

Tommy shrugs. "Sure. Whatever you wanna do is fine with me."

Adam laughs. "Lordy, Tommy Joe, try and contain your excitement! But it'll be fun, I promise," he says. He sets the last dish into the washer and turns it on. Then he perches on the stool across from Tommy and rests his head in one hand. "I'm ready."

Tommy looks down at himself, still smelling of chlorine from last night, still in pajamas, still in bare feet. Then he scowls back up at Adam. "Fine, I'm going, I'm going," he grumbles, and Adam's pleased laughter follows him all the way up the stairs.

Adam's right, this place really is beautiful. The day is perfect, warm with a light breeze stirring through the trees. The leaves are just beginning to turn in a few places, bright spots of red and orange dotting the lush green. The path goes right into the woods and follows the mountainside up and up on a gentle incline. There's solid rock to the right, and to the left is an amazing view, forest as far as the eye can see, and a steep drop down. They chat for a little while, but eventually the climb starts to take its toll, and they stop talking and focus on breathing. There aren't many other people out, and the few they do see give them mild nods, like you would to a complete stranger. Tommy watches Adam out of the corner of his eye, and he grins every time this happens, clearly enjoying the break from being famous. The problem is, Tommy thinks to himself, that once it happens, you don't get a choice anymore. You just _are_ famous, and there's nothing you can do about it. He's starting to understand why so many celebrities flame out, or die young, or end up total train wrecks.

Eventually, they reach the end of the trail. They've been able to hear the waterfall for a few minutes now, but it still comes as a surprise when Tommy rounds the corner and sees it, pouring down from a cleft in the rockface above to splash into a deep, dark pool. They both stop and stare for a moment, taking it in, and it's not just the waterfall that makes this place beautiful. The clearing is big and vaguely circular, and there are big rocks scattered throughout, evidence of a long-ago rockfall, maybe. The ground is soft underfoot, and the whole place smells fresh and alive, like growing things, so different from the climate-controlled air they've been living in for so long.

Adam puts an arm around his shoulder and leans in close to murmur in his ear. "Thank you for bringing me out here, Tommy. It's perfect."

And before he can respond, Adam is _off,_ running like a little kid to the edge of the pool, reaching down to touch the water. Tommy grins and chases him, really letting his legs go, feeling the stretch and pull. The water is shockingly cold, and as they watch, the breeze kicks up, blowing a scattering of leaves down to land gently on the water, floating like tiny boats until they get too close to the falls and are crushed. Adam is hunched down right on the edge, dipping his fingers in and then holding them up, watching the water drip off, drop by slow drop, ripples spreading in the pool each time one of them hits. Tommy watches him for a while, and then he turns his face up to watch the falls themselves. The patterns shift, ever-changing, and sometimes he thinks he sees words there, and sometimes faces, and sometimes nothing at all.

After a while, Adam stands up, wiping his wet hands on his jeans. He goes to a big nearby rock and lays down on it, and Tommy follows, stretching out next to him and looking up at the sky. The rock is warm, heated by the morning sun, and it feels good under him, especially when he puts his hands up to pillow his head. The sky is brilliant-blue, with fluffy white clouds rolling slowly by, and the sunlight streams down through the trees in green-tinted beams, and Adam's right, it's so perfect it hardly looks real.

Eventually, Adam's breathing slows, becomes deep and steady, and Tommy glances over to see that he's fallen asleep. He rolls onto his side, propping his head up on one arm, and just watches Adam's face. He looks so peaceful like this, shadows of the leaves dancing across his features, his eyes closed, his lips parted just slightly. Freckles dust his nose and cheeks, even his lips, and Tommy wonders how many there would be if he were to count them.

He loses track of time, everything seeming to move in slow motion, like they've got out of the world a little bit. Other people pass through now and then, coming up to look at the waterfall and maybe shoot a glance Tommy's way, and then they move on, like they never existed at all. It's only when Tommy starts to get sore from laying on such a hard surface that he wakes Adam, putting a gentle hand on one shoulder and shaking him, calling his name softly. Adam's eyes blink open slowly, and when he sees Tommy above him, his gives him this _smile,_ this amazing smile that's something special even in Adam's whole collection of sun-shaming expressions. It makes something in Tommy's chest flutter wildly, and he pulls away, standing and stretching and looking around for the trail home.

They get back to the cabin absolutely starving, and Adam says it's the fresh air, though Tommy has no idea why that would make such a difference. They pull the steaks out of the fridge, and Tommy convinces Adam to let him do the grilling. Adam throws together a big elaborate salad, and they eat in front of the cabin at a picnic table, drinking beer and waving at the rare car that drives by, and it's possibly the best meal Tommy has ever tasted.

It's late afternoon when they finish – maybe three, maybe four, but who knows? Tommy's stopped keeping track. Adam gives him a little smirk, his eyes mischievous, and Tommy looks back questioningly, wondering what that's all about. But Adam just goes to the car and opens the trunk, and pulls out a guitar case.

He's grinning as he presents it to Tommy, and Tommy stares up at him, speechless. Then Tommy swallows hard and says, "You didn't. You _didn't!_ "

"Oh yes I did. Go on, you deserve it," Adam says.

Tommy reaches up and takes the case in reverent hands, and Adam goes to collect the dishes out of the way so Tommy has a place to set it. And oh, the guitar is beautiful, probably the nicest thing Tommy has ever owned, smooth wood and tight strings and masterful craftsmanship, and Adam's spent way, way too much money on this, but....

He checks his hands, makes sure they're pristine, and then pulls the instrument out of its case. And it's as if it was build for his hands, like this was the guitar he was always meant to play. He runs his fingers over the strings experimentally, making minute tuning adjustments, trying again. Finally, he gets it sounding exactly right, hits that elusive sweet spot where the vibrations just melt together, and he lets loose a quick riff, grinning at the results. Then he looks up at Adam, who's watching him all proud and happy, and he doesn't even know what to say.

Adam speaks for him. "Come on. Let's go play," he says.

Tommy grins and follows him, and they go and sit on the porch and Tommy can't stop playing, plucking out snippets of melodies and sending them off on the breeze. "I didn't think you'd want to sing on this trip."

"One rule: nothing from the show or the album. Otherwise, knock yourself out. I'll never be tired of singing. It's just singing the same thing over and over that gets to me," Adam answers.

It's always been freeing, playing with Adam, because Adam can sing anything. He doesn't know every song that Tommy knows, but even if he doesn't know the words, he's able to pick up on the melody and vocalize along. Tommy closes his eyes and gives his fingers free reign, and he finds himself playing songs he'd thought he'd forgotten, and songs he doesn't ever remember learning, and songs that he isn't sure have ever been played before at all, by anyone. He's been playing bass so long that it's validating to know he can still rock a lead, and Adam's voice goes to new places, lower than he reaches in the show and higher too, and softer than it ever could be singing to an audience.

After a while, when Tommy's fingers are aching and Adam's voice is beginning to go hoarse, and the afternoon is beginning to shift to evening, Tommy lets the music fade away into silence. He puts the guitar away, tender, careful, and walks around and around the cabin, looking for the safest place to put it. He settles on laying it on the floor next to his side of the bed, and gives it one last pat before going downstairs to Adam.

Adam's sitting on the couch, and he's turned the fireplace on, bright flames dancing prettily around the decorative logs. Tommy comes to sit by him, and Adam puts an arm around him, and Tommy's head falls onto his shoulder, and they sit and watch the fire together. It's silent for a long time, and peaceful, but Tommy can sense Adam thinking. He doesn't know how that's possible, but it is. Maybe Adam just has louder thoughts than most people.

Adam's voice is harsh when he speaks, regretful. "I hate that I got so burned out."

Tommy turns his head to look up at him, to contradict his words, but Adam quiets him with a look and continues.

"I mean, it's been my dream my whole life. I'm so lucky. I've gotten everything I've ever wanted. And how fucked up is that, to start hating it?" He pauses, licks his lips, takes a deep breath. "I did some dumb things. Some really dumb things. I don't even know...I don't know where it would have ended up if you hadn't come to talk to me that night. How did you know?"

Tommy doesn't want to say it, but it's the truth. "Adam, it was obvious. We all knew."

Adam nods, once, slowly. "Right. Yeah. Obvious."

"It's ok, Adam. It's not your fault. It's an insane life anyway, and everything happened for you so fast. They push you too hard."

"You don't think I can take it." It's a statement, not a question.

Tommy shakes his head, turning and wrapping his arms around Adam in a sideways hug. "That's not it at all, and you know it. You _should_ know it. You were born to be famous. It's so easy for you, most of the time. Remember? We've just been on tour too long with no break. Next time around, we'll schedule in some rest time. Problem solved."

Adam listens, quiet, and then he turns toward Tommy, returning his hug. "You make it sound so simple."

Tommy's face is muffled into Adam now, but he replies anyway. "It is."

Just as it's starting to get hard to breathe, Adam shifts, pulling away and standing. "I think it's hot tub time," he says.

"Again?" Tommy asks, smiling.

"Are you kidding? If there was one on the bus, I would _live_ in it," Adam says, laughing softly and offering a hand to help Tommy to his feet.

They're more sober tonight, in mood and in alcohol content, and they remember to bring towels. At first, Tommy settles into the same spot he'd taken last night, but it doesn't feel right, sitting so far away from Adam when he still doesn't look quite right, quite happy. So he waits for Adam to get settled, and then he slides around to Adam's side, leaning up against him, mimicking their position on the sofa earlier. Adam stills for a moment, but Tommy just wraps an arm around his chest and nuzzles his head into Adam's shoulder, and after a bit Adam relaxes again.

And oh yes, this is better, all that slick wet skin and thumping heartbeat underneath. Adam puts his arm around Tommy and his hand lands on Tommy's shoulder, rubbing back and forth, back and forth, trails of water beading in its path. It's good and comforting and feels right, and Tommy will never get over how well he fits right here, like he was built for it.

A warm tingling feeling goes through his body that has nothing to do with the hot water or spraying jets, and Tommy smiles into Adam's skin. Adam glances down at him, smiling himself, curious.

"Happy?"

Tommy nods.

"Any particular reason?"

"Hmm...no. Just happy."

They sleep facing each other that night, bodies curling toward one another, not quite touching, and Tommy dreams of Adam, of freckled lips and the taste of warm, smooth skin under harsh chlorine.


	4. Day Three

They sleep late that morning and wake together, eyes meeting, then dancing apart.

Tommy flips through the brochures over his coffee, and one of them highlights a mountain lake not too far away. There's a park there, and a campsite, and it looks like the perfect place to take a blanket and a packed lunch and just chill for a while. He feels like he needs some chill today.

Adam looks at the pictures over his shoulder, and agrees to his plan, and they make sandwiches and throw them and a bag of chips and a blanket into the car, and they're off again.

It's not as pretty a day, clouds starting to roll in from the west, but they discuss it and decide they still have a few hours of sun before the storm hits. The lake is just as gorgeous as in the pictures, deep blue and still and sparkling in the sun, and there's large swaths of thick grass all around, and they spread the blanket out on a good patch and plop down on it.

Adam has a novel, something thick and paperback. Tommy asks what it's about, but he doesn't quite understand Adam's answer, something about art and fashion and celebrity, and the meaning of life. It doesn't matter, really, because Adam looks thrilled to be reading it, saying he can never focus enough on the bus to read, always thinking about the next stop, and he's missed it so much.

Tommy watches Adam squirm into a comfortable position, cradling the book in his hands and quickly losing himself in it. Then he pulls his iPod out of his pocket and puts in his headphones. He sets it to shuffle and leans back on his hands, letting his mind drift with the music and watching the sun on the water.

They eat when they get hungry, still a bit lost in their own worlds, together, but not really connecting. It's all right. It's nice, actually. Relaxing. Easy.

When he's finished, Tommy stands and walks down to the water, taking his shoes off and wading in with bare feet, his jeans rolled up to the calf. The water is amazingly clear, fed by runoff from mountain snow, and it's almost too cold to stand. He steps in and out, making his slow way along the coastline, and it's not at all a surprise when he hears Adam coming up behind him, splashing his way through the shallow water.

"You left me," Adam pouts, but it's a fake pout, no real hurt on his face.

"Oh, you were fine. You were reading!" Tommy replies, waving a dismissive hand Adam's way.

Adam advances on him, predatory playfulness. "You better watch out. I could have you underwater in two seconds flat."

"Yeah? I'd like to see you try," Tommy says, getting ready to run. He knows Adam's not lying, but come on, what's he supposed to say to that?

The chase is fun, and neither of them end up getting dunked, but they might as well have been for all the splashing. Adam catches Tommy in the end, of course, trapping him in a bear hug, and Tommy makes a show of struggling. Finally, he gives in, slumping in Adam's arms, whining about how he's tired from running and Adam should just carry him back.

"Is that right?" Adam asks, and though he can't see his face, Tommy can hear the smirk in his voice.

"Wait a minute, Adam, _no,_ I was just joking, Adam, oh _shit!_ " Tommy squeals, as Adam spins him around and hauls him up and throws him over a shoulder, and it's way easier than it should be, and Tommy regrets ever having stopped the weightlifting.

He squirms and punches at Adam's back and tries to get free, but Adam's stronger than he looks, and Tommy can't stop laughing, and there's no chance. Adam carries him all the way back to the blanket and deposits him there, a huge grin on his face.

Tommy's about to say something, defend his shattered masculinity or some shit, but then there's a flash of lightning and a loud blast of thunder, and they both forget what they were doing and look up at the sky. It's gotten dark _fast,_ and it looks like the downpour is coming at any second. They glance at each other, just for a split second, and then it's all action. Tommy gathers up their trash from lunch, and Adam gets his book and wraps it in the blanket, and they make a break for the car.

The rain hits just as Tommy slams the door behind him, and they sit in the car, gasping for breath and staring in awe at the sheets of water falling all around them. The air feels electric, and the noise of the rain against the car is deafening, and Tommy looks at Adam with wide eyes. Adam's staring at him already, still panting from the run, a light sheen of lake water or sweat or early raindrops shining on his face, and Tommy can see the lightning reflected in his eyes. Their eyes lock for a long time, and Tommy almost does something crazy, something that he won't quite name even in his own mind, won't look directly at.

But the rain suddenly lessens, turning from a downpour into a steady drizzle, light enough to drive in, and there's no reason to be sitting here anymore, so Adam shakes himself and turns away and starts the car. Tommy stares out the window, watching the rain streak over the glass, and tries to will his heartbeat to slow down to normal.

They get back to the cabin and run inside, and Tommy's glad they brought extra clothes. He changes into something dry and comfortable, resigning himself to an evening inside. Adam's still changing when he gets downstairs, so he flops onto the couch and turns on the TV. But right, it's satellite, and the storm is clearly fucking with it, because all he gets is an error screen. He switches it off again and looks around. Huh. Well then. Apparently they're on their own for entertainment.

Adam comes into the room with a towel still in hand, ruffling it through his hair. He stops behind the couch and sees the look on Tommy's face. "No TV?" he asks.

"Nope."

"Oh. Well, that's ok. You still have me!" Adam says, flouncing away to hang up the towel.

Tommy rolls his eyes. "If you sing _one single line..._ " he calls out, but it's too late. Adam's already launched into a full-voiced rendition of "For Your Entertainment." Tommy sighs and hangs his head. Hopeless. Completely hopeless. But the burnout seems to be gone, and that's something to be grateful for anyway.

Adam comes back grinning, and he sits on the opposite end of the couch from Tommy, one leg curled up under him, and he drops his hands in his lap dramatically.

"So. What now?" he asks.

Tommy thinks for a minute. "Well, it's our last day here...we should probably try to kill the rest of the food if we can..." he says, unable to think of anything else that he particularly wants to admit to out loud.

"Oh! That reminds me!" Adam says, and bounces up again. He comes back with a bottle of vodka in one hand and a bottle of tonic in the other, balancing two glasses stacked on top of each other with his wrists.

Tommy stares. Maybe Adam hadn't bought as much food as he'd thought. "Seriously?" he asks as Adam sets everything down on the coffee table.

Adam shrugs. "Hey, what else are we gonna do? And besides, don't you play all high and mighty with me, Tommy Joe. I know what you've got in that cup you take everywhere. Works pretty fast when you drink it through a straw, doesn't it?"

And ok, yeah, Tommy can't really argue with that. Adam mixes them some drinks, and there's no ice but the tonic is chilled, and it's good quality vodka, surprisingly good. They toast, the clink of the glasses almost lost in the sound of the rain on the windows, and sip.

Adam is never really a quiet person, but when he drinks, he turns into a twelve-year-old girl, talking a mile a minute about anything and everything, and Tommy feels the warmth of the alcohol settle into his belly, and he finds that he can keep up with Adam, the conversation flowing back and forth easily, naturally.

They talk about everything, the tour and what's past and what's next, and what Adam wants to do for the next album, and where they see themselves in ten years, and ex-lovers and celebrity crushes and how Tommy is awesome at Wheel of Fortune and terrible at Jeopardy and Adam's just the opposite, and what they hated about high school, and it's amazing, hours passing like seconds, and Tommy has never had a conversation this long in his whole life, not without doing something else.

They're both pleasantly buzzing when the words finally begin to slow, not wasted, just happy. Tommy has his eyes closed, enjoying the sensation, and it takes him a minute to open them again when Adam speaks.

"I wish we didn't have to go back," he blurts out, as if it's some deep dark secret that Tommy might disown him for admitting.

Tommy blinks. Focuses. "I know. Me too," he says.

Adam shakes his head. "No, but I mean. Us. Me and you. I wish we could stay here. Like this. Forever."

Tommy can't think of an answer. Instead, his body moves for him, and he stands up and takes Adam's hands and leads him out onto the porch, to the hot tub, because it's what they do at night before bed. The rain has slowed, almost stopped, but it's ok anyway because they're sheltered here by a nice solid roof. And their trunks are still inside, still hanging in the bathroom where they'd left them last night to dry, but that doesn't seem to matter much, and Tommy just strips and climbs in. Adam hesitates, but Tommy floats to the side and rests his chin on the edge and looks up at Adam, all cute and wide-eyed like he knows he does so well, and Adam licks his lips and pulls his clothes off and sinks into the water.

They stare at each other across the foam, and it's not so different from the other nights, not like you can see anything. Not different at all, except that the blood is pounding in Tommy's head, and he's already hard, and he _wants,_ has been wanting, ever since they first got here and probably long before that. Their feet are tangling together, and Tommy's never been much for feet, but these feet are _Adam's,_ and above them are long, long legs, and above those...and anyway, it's still skin on skin, _Adam's_ skin on his, and every touch sends a spark through him straight to his cock.

He's frozen on a knife-edge, torn between the safe and the dangerous, the familiar and the desired, and he can't fucking _move,_ and goddamn it, Adam is looking at him, _devouring_ him with those damn eyes of his, and he'll never forgive himself if he doesn't make a move right now, right this second.

Tommy leans forward, coming up off the seat, and Adam moves at just the same moment, and they collide in the middle, lips and teeth and tongues crashing together as the water splashes crazily around them. It's awkward and the angles are all wrong and they can't quite balance in the water, but then Adam leans back into his seat and Tommy flows with him, and oh, _that's_ better. It's all in slow motion because of the water and maybe a little because of the vodka, but eventually Tommy ends up straddling Adam's lap, his legs settling on either side of Adam's, and oh _god,_ that's Adam's cock sliding against his, big and hard and perfect, and Tommy moans into Adam's mouth, and Adam swallows it down, licking all these little noises out of Tommy that he hadn't even known he could make.

Adam kisses like he's dying, like this is his last breath and he wants to share it with Tommy, desperate and aching, and his hands are clutching at Tommy's hips, coming around to grip his ass, pull him tighter, closer, and _fuck,_ Tommy is riding Adam's lap, grinding himself up against Adam's cock where it's pressed between their bodies, and Adam throws his head back and sounds that might be words come out of his mouth, but Tommy doesn't know because it's all too much and not enough all at once, and he's going crazy, totally fucked in the head, and this is the hottest thing he's ever done.

Tommy's arms are locked around Adam's head, holding on for dear life, so Adam takes one hand off Tommy's ass and slides it down between them instead, and _Christ,_ his hand really is big enough to grip both of them, and he strokes hard and rough and sure, and Tommy is usually pretty quiet when he comes, biting his lip and holding it in, but this time, he _screams._ He arches back in Adam's lap and hears his voice echoing from the rafters and Adam is shuddering under him, following him over the edge. And just like that, it's over, and Tommy falls forward into Adam's arms, and Adam holds him tight, his face pressed against Tommy's chest just over his heart, and they come down slowly, relearning how to breathe.

Adam stirs first, and Tommy eases away from him, up and out of the water in one smooth motion, and he sits on the edge of the tub and shivers naked in the cold air, unsure of what comes next. But Adam knows, and he steps out and grabs Tommy's hand and leads him inside, straight to the shower. Adam follows him in even though it's tiny, and for a while it's all strange maneuvering and giggles and hard water smell overwhelming the chlorine. By the time they're done, getting out and drying off with soft white towels, the buzz of alcohol has faded almost entirely from Tommy's brain, and his body is thrumming with new arousal instead, because it's been so long, so many months of wanting, and it wasn't enough, maybe will _never_ be enough.

And clearly Adam thinks the same thing, because they leave the bathroom and tumble straight into bed, Tommy on his back and Adam falling on top of him. Adam doesn't do anything for a long minute, just stares down at his face with this _look,_ like he can't even believe this is happening.

"Hi," Tommy says, feeling like an idiot the minute it leaves his lips.

But Adam just grins and says, "Hi yourself."

And then Tommy can breathe again, and he remembers that it's still just them, the same two people who splashed around in a lake today and hiked up a mountain yesterday and played a hundred rock concerts together before that.

"That was..." he says breathlessly. Adam is warm and heavy and solid above him, and one hand is toying with his wet hair where it's fallen by his ear, and it's making it kind of hard to put thoughts together right now.

"I know," Adam says, and there's awe in his voice.

His hand stills, coming to cup Tommy's face, and he leans down to kiss him, soft and sweet and thorough, and Tommy relaxes and opens up for him, letting him explore and play and learn what works best, what makes Tommy flinch away and what makes him thrust up against Adam, looking for more. And he feels so cared for, so adored, and it's like they really are on their honeymoon.

Tommy settles deeper into the soft mattress and lets Adam do what he will, and Adam is slow and gentle and perfect, covering him with kisses, licking and biting into his neck until he finds the spot that makes Tommy _writhe,_ and when he does he stays there, sucking a dark purple mark into the skin, until Tommy is begging for something, anything, everything Adam has to give.

Adam's hands sink lower, teasing small pink nipples into hardness, tasting each with the tip of his tongue as he moves down, down. His hands rest on Tommy's waist for a long, long time, just running up and down the inward curve of it, wrapping around to see his long fingers span the circumference of Tommy's body, and Tommy watches Adam's face and feels _worshiped._

Finally, Adam's hands wander down further, light teasing touches playing over him, and he's hard again, but it's a pleasant arousal, good, not the desperate dangerous thing that had been consuming him mere hours ago. Adam's fingers go between his legs, touching him softly, gently, and Tommy spreads his legs for him, letting him see, and Adam can't quite suppress his moan.

"Tommy...I want...please..." Adam says, and it's a rare thing to see him speechless, but he is, or very nearly.

Tommy fills in the words for him. "I know," he says, a little breathy, but steady enough. "You wanna fuck me."

But Adam shakes his head. "No, baby. I wanna make love to you. I want to join our bodies together, get so close we'll never be apart again. I want you to know to the very deepest part of your soul how much I love you."

And from anyone else, it would be cheesy and sentimental and over the top, but Adam has always been able to pull off over the top, and instead of making him want to laugh, it makes Tommy want to cry tears of joy. And then his eyes really do start to water, and his voice shakes when he speaks. "I love you too, Adam. I love you."

Adam's eyes shine like the sun and the moon and the stars, and then they're kissing again, losing themselves in each other, and Tommy feels like he's falling and flying and dancing all at once.

Finally, Adam pulls away, going to the drawer they'd shoved all the honeymoon stuff in when they first arrived. It feels like years ago instead of mere days, and Tommy has just a moment while Adam digs through the drawer to be grateful for the mix-up. And then Adam is back, and he's kissing Tommy again, and he fingers Tommy open slow, so slow, and there's not even a hint of pain, just warm, slick fingers and the incredible sensation of Adam _inside_ him, a part of him, and he's aching for more by the time Adam pulls away.

He hears more than sees Adam roll the condom on, unable to get his eyes to focus on anything, and for just a moment it makes him sad, wishing that they were both pure enough to come together without anything between them. But then Adam's right there, holding his hands and staring down into his eyes, and he's pushing _in,_ so slow it hardly seems that he's moving at all, but that's ok because Tommy's still feeling nothing but good, full and strange and oh so different, but good. Adam watches him carefully, and for once he's grateful that his face is so expressive, because Adam can read him like a book, and he knows when to slow down, and when he can go further, and when Tommy's moans stop being about enjoying the moment and become more like begging, more, more, more.

Adam takes him slow and steady, and he only stops kissing him once in a while to stare into his eyes, and that feels even more intimate than anything, somehow, this eye contact at such close range, like Adam can see into every corner of him. And as Adam's rhythm picks up, becoming faster, harder, Tommy thrusts up at him, giving as good as he gets, and Adam lets go of his hands and grabs onto his hips instead, leaning back for a new angle, and Tommy has never felt like this, never _imagined_ he could feel like this, taken and owned and so _loved,_ and Adam thrusts one more time, hard and deep, and he stays there, buried inside, and Tommy can feel him pulsing, a slow beating rhythm that plays a syncopated counterpoint to his own heartbeat.

Adam doesn't waste a second, just pulls out and drops down in one easy motion, and then he's swallowing Tommy's cock all the way to the base, and his cheeks are hollowed out, sucking hard, and he's doing something with his tongue that Tommy can't quite figure out, and he glances up through his lashes at Tommy's face, and that's when he comes, arching up off the bed and into Adam's throat, deep and satisfying and perfect.

Adam comes up to lay by Tommy, taking him into his arms and cuddling him close, and at some point he must have disposed with the condom – though Tommy can't for the life of him figure out when – because it's all warm, soft skin now. Adam's whispering something in his ear, and though the tone of his voice is sweet and gentle and loving, Tommy's too far away to make sense of it, ebbing waves of pleasure giving over almost immediately to the pull of sleep. The last thing he can remember of that night is Adam rolling him onto his side and spooning up behind him, and thinking about how, yeah, they fit perfectly this way, too.


	5. Epilogue

They wake up the next day and look at each other across the pillows, and there are nerves dancing along the edges of their smiles, but they're smiles nonetheless.

Adam wants to talk about it, make plans, outline edges and boundaries, set rules, label things.

But Tommy can be rather brilliant sometimes, believe it or not, and he suspects that this time is one of them. "Look," he says to Adam, their fingers playing together on the sheets between them. "I realized something last night. Maybe...maybe we overthink things. I _know_ you do, and it might be rubbing off on me. Why should we have to make it complicated? I mean, even in the middle of everything, all the cameras and eyes and attention and whatever, it's still...it's just us, you know? It'll still be us, there just as much as here. And can't we just go with what feels right? Because I have to say...this feels pretty damn right to me."

And Adam grins, and agrees, and kisses Tommy breathless.

As they stand at the door, packed and ready to go, Tommy takes one last look around, thinking about how much things have changed here, how much they owe this place. But then Adam comes up behind him and takes him into his arms, and nuzzles a kiss into his neck, and Tommy closes his eyes and presses back into Adam. And he knows that he won't miss this place, because he's taking the very best part of it back with him. Home.


End file.
